[private] each time the feeling fades

[Gale]

i hear the wicked get no rest, but when you do ---------- i hope you dream of me ‘You will not touch my son’, fortells the spotted mare. And for a while, at least, she is right. The navy creature’s teeth sink into a pale neck, and clawed wings rip at feathers rather than Obscene’s glittering sides. Her blood flows red and fast, sliding down the monster’s throat, dripping from its lips, staining her golden skin a deep and shining crimson. It bites down harder, vicelike, ignoring the hard blows of her hooves even as the scraped skin on his face where she’d struck begin to glow a faint pale gold. The crocodilian jaws do not shred or rip or tear, only squeeze closer closer closer until at last they meet. The brindle stallion drops her body unceremoniously. Only when she says crumpled on the earth does he recognize the buckskin mare as the woman that Obscene had come to Tephra to steal. She is not quite dead yet, but he can feel it drawing near. He calls to her soul, Ryatah’s soul summoning warped into something darker as he attempts to draw the soul from her body, to gobble it down as well. He forgets Obscene entirely, the soft hiss of the snake no more important than the whisper of wind across burnt grass. @Obscene GALE